


Christmas... Past, present and future...

by svetlanacat4



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svetlanacat4/pseuds/svetlanacat4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answer to a challenge on Section7 mfu (lj)<br/>Three pics...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Better is late...

“It's a watch...”  
The amazed tone more than the statement gave him a start. The house was deserted but an evil draft swept across the attic and caused faint crackling sounds. After all, a few days ago, it was a Thrush lair...  
“A... watch? You mean... a timer? It's trapped?”  
The Russian shook his head. “No. Just a watch. An old pocket watch...”  
  
 _“This, my boy, this will be yours, some day.” The old man put his hand on the boy's shoulder and pointed at the table.  
“I got it from my grand pa, you know. It's very old.” He cracked a smile and patted the boy on the head._  
  
  
He studied the watch. Yes, it was an old pocket watch with a cracked glass and...  
“Five to twelve... No, four...” The Russian's voice sounded strangely amused, given the circumstances. He shook his head with disbelief. “Look... we have... exactly four minutes till midnight...” He peeped at his partner. “... till Christmas...”  
  
 _“This, young man, this is yours. Merry Christmas, Napoleon Anthony Solo...” The old man considered his grand son with feigned solemnity.  
  
The twelve years old boy stood straight... _ **Young man** _... and held out his hand towards the sparkling watch._  
  
The Russian brushed carefully the tarnished metal. “Brass... No mark...” He turned to his unexpectedly silent partner. “Napoleon?”  
“My grand father gave me a watch like this one... On Christmas Day...” He pursed his lips at his friend's half smile. “And the paper it was wrapped in? Look... it's... a letter?”  
The Russian screwed up his eyes. 'Hand written... Yes, a letter... or a page of a private diary... It isn't a Thrush thing...”  
“Journal...”  
“Mmmm?”  
“Journal. Private diary is the British locution...”  
Illya Kuryakin didn't even scowl at him. He just peeped at his watch, smiled and whispered “Happy Christmas, Napoleon!”  
“ **Merry**  Christmas, Illya!”


	2. Paris, Gardens of Trocadero...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eiffel Tower, Statue of Liberty... Snow fight

“So here we are... In Paris on Christmas day... Joyeux Noël, camarade!”  
  
 _Napoleon's tone was undoubtedly cheerful – and his accent... Illya rolled his eyes... awful... - but it didn't fool his partner. Of course, once again, they had saved the world. Once again villains had been defeated, innocent people rescued. Of course they were in Paris, in the Gardens of the Trocadéro, on the 25th of December._  
  
“Look, we have a Christmas tree...” Napoleon brushed gently the snowy branches.  
  
 _Napoleon missed Christmas. He wouldn't admit it but he missed his aunt Amy's Christmas Eve feast. Family traditions didn't get well with Uncle agents' duties. Illya Kuryakin sighed. Family traditions didn't get well with wars, with politics, with the sake of..._  
  
“Illya?”  
  
“Yes, a Christmas tree...” The Russian smiled.  
  
One of those thoughtful smiles Napoleon knew so well. Of course, once again, they had saved the world. They had defeated villains, rescued innocent people... Once again they had missed out on normal life. Christmas time brought back memories, some unpleasant, some heartbreaking, some wonderful... though sad because lost, out of reach. Illya wouldn't admit it but he surely missed his family old traditions and - he sighed - the new one... aunt Amy's feast. . But traditions, old or new, didn't get well with Uncle agents' duties.  
  
“Last year...” The Russian paused, “Do you remember? The old pocket watch?”  
  
Napoleon raised an inquiring eyebrow. Yes, he remembered, but...  
  
“It was wrapped in a page...”  
  
“Yes, it was just an old letter...”  
  
“No.” Illya bit his lips. “It was a page, torn from a diary... A journal...” He looked both puzzled and filled with wonder. “It's... strange.” He hesitated. “The man who wrote it... lived in New York in the end of the 19th century. He was a journalist and...” He paused again, savoring the moment. “ He attended the ceremony of dedication of the Statue of Liberty.” He peeped at his friend with obvious contentment.  
  
Napoleon humored his know-all partner. “And?”  
  
“He recounted that Frédéric Bartholdi... You know who...”  
  
“Yes, I do. Go on.”  
  
“Frédéric Bartholdi decided that he would use copper sheets beaten to shape by the repoussé method. You know about the repoussé method?”  
  
Napoleon nodded shamelessly.  
  
“But he had to cope with the structure within the statue. He worked first with Viollet le Duc who died a few months later.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Illya smiled. “It was a tricky situation but Bartholdi managed to get the services of...” He pointed at the Eiffel Tower, “Alexandre Gustave Eiffel!” He paused. “It's strange... Last year, this page, and now... Eiffel... An amazing coincidence...”  
  
It was strange, indeed. Napoleon considered the Eiffel tower, its silhouette blurred in the morning frosty mist. An old pocket watch... a page torn from a journal and... “Ouch...”  
  
A snowball had smashed into his neck. A laughing Russian was already forming another one.  
  
“Joyeux Noël, Napoléon!”


	3. There are worlds out there...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And came the Doctor...

“What are you doing here?”, Napoleon Solo snapped, aiming his gun at the intruder. It was unthinkable, unconceivable that anyone could enter this place... Guards, electronic surveillance and so many other devices...

The man turned to him, ignoring the threatening weapon. He smiled almost apologetically and rubbed the nape of his neck.

“Stop it! Don't move! Who are you?”

The man raised an inquiring eyebrow through some ruffled locks and pursed his lips. “ _Oh, yes, I should have...” He tilted his head, folding his arms. “Aren't we the 24 th of December? The._..” He hesitated, “ _Christmas Eve?_ ”

Napoleon couldn't help cracking a smile at the incongruous situation, immediately scolding himself.

“Who are you?”

The man shook his head. “  _Of course, you're... the boss now.” He brushed some dust from the lapel of his strange striped jacket. “You've something which belongs to me and... I need it._ ”

The man's effrontery was priceless. Effrontery or... insanity. Napoleon pointed at a chair.

“Sit down. Slowly. Keep your hands in sight.” Still aiming at the intruder, he sat on his desk. “So, who are you and what do you want?”

The man sighed. “T _wenty years ago, you found something. A fob watch..._ ”

Napoleon frowned. The pocket watch... which reminded him of his grand father's gift...

“ _You remember it! I knew you would! It's mine and I need it._ ”

Insane. The man was insane.

“It's yours? The watch we found twenty years ago is yours?... You're...”

The beep of the intercom cut him off.

“Mr. Kuryakin, sir.”

Napoleon Solo frowned. Illya? What the hell... The man was smiling brightly.

“Let him in, of course.”

Illya Kuryakin entered, pursing his lips with obvious annoyance. “What is it about, Napoleon? We'll be late and...”

“I _beg your pardon, Mr. Kuryakin... May I call you Illya? I took the liberty of inviting you..._ ”

The Russian stared at the man with icy eyes, which didn't impress the said man.. “Who's he, Napoleon?”

“ _It's about the fob watch. I need it._ ”

“The pocket watch, Illya. Do you remember...?”, Napoleon Solo hissed.

“Of course yes, I do! I looked for it for hours in the archives, as you asked me!” The Russian waved a small box.

“I didn't ask you anything!”

“ _I did._ ” The man smiled almost sheepishly. “ _I really, really need it..._ ”

“Who is this man, Napoleon? What happened?”

The older man shrugged his shoulder, rolling his eyes. The man went on.

“ _It's a long story and... Okay. Long ago, very malicious and ill-intended villains managed to use one of your monuments as... a directional antenna.”_

Questions burst out.

“Long ago? When?”

“A monument, Which one?”

“ _Oh, yes... Well, it was in... 1886, Napoleon. May I call you Napoleon? The Statue of Liberty, Illya. It was a perfect antenna tower, with its crown and the torch.”_

“1886...”, Napoleon hissed.

“Statue of Liberty...” Illya repeated softly.

“ _I fixed it with the help of a young journalist, but I was in a hurry – I'm always...- and I left my fob watch. He kept it safe._ ”

Napoleon Solo banged he desk. Enough, it was, enough. “1886? Are you kidding? Who are you?”

The man got a thin metallic sheet out of his pocket and held it out to the Russian. “ _Look. You'll see the same on the watch. It's mine, I swear._ ”

Illya considered the strange symbols. He didn't need to check. “It isn't decorative, is it? I thought it might be symbols... kind of a mathematical language...”

“ _Yes!_ ” The man almost clapped. “ _Those are Gallifreyan symbols!_ ”

“Gallifreyan...”

“WHO ARE YOU?”, Napoleon Solo thundered.

“ _Oh, yes, of course... This watch... It isn't an ordinary one. It's... a storage for my memories and my... biology. It's allow me to hide from my enemies._ ”

Insane. The man was insane. “I won't ask again. Who are you?”

The man smiled. “ _I am the Doctor._ ”

The doctor? Just what he needed! A psychiatrist! Napoleon couldn't really understand why he didn't call for the guards.

“The Doctor?” The Russian looked at the man with amazement.

“ _Yes. I am a Time Lord. The last one... Now...” He held out an inviting hand, “ I'm sorry. I need it._ ” Simultaneously he got out a strange device and pointed it at the corner of the room. Before the two UNCLE men's very eyes, a blue police box materialized.

“ _The watch? Illya, please?”_

Napoleon nodded and the Russian handed the small box to the man.

“ _Thank you so much...” He was heading towards the police box when he stopped, turning to them. “Oh, here are two gifts for you. Let's say... lost things that you might be happy to get back... Merry Christmas!”_

He entered the Police box which disappeared immediately.

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin exchanged an uncertain look.

Dream? Drugs? Dementia?

“Look...”, Illya whispered.

There were two small boxes on the desk. One personalized with NS, the other with IK...

We should ask for the bomb disposal unit...”

“We should...” Illya Kuryakin opened his own box. So did Napoleon.

A medal was hanging from Illya Kuryakin's fingers. His medal lost long ago. Lost and missed.

In Napoleon Solo's hand, there was a watch. The watch his grand father had given him. Lost and missed.

Somewhere, someone stroke the twelve chimes of midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Napoleon!”

Merry Christmas, Illya!”


End file.
